One thousand and one nights
by Alba Adler
Summary: After a few years hiding in the Free Cities, Jaime Lannister returns to King's Landing to face Daenerys Targaryen and his own past. Thanks to Singing Banana who was my beta in chapters 1,2 and 7, and Lauralina who helped me with all the others!
1. 1 Night one

1\. Night One

He didn't remember the walls around the Iron Door being so tall. Perhaps because never before had he crossed them with such a high probability of never going through them alive again. A cart passed by his side and splashed him with mud. The men guarding the merchandise didn't even give him an apologetic glance.

He enjoyed the anonymity. For all those men he was no more than a foreigner, surely only an outsider, a merchant coming from Essos to trade.

Just a few things had changed since the last time he was there. The tower, destroyed by the fire at the King's Landing siege had been rebuilt and the main road was recently paved. Besides that, just the three headed dragon banners showed any significant difference. Life in Westeros was as unaltered with his presence as it was before with his absence.

His hair was cut short, and the silver, slowly but surely, made its way between the gold that colored it. The cloak hid the stump at his right arm. And surely he had never been so far from feeling like The Lion of Lannister. He still was Jaime, a little merchant from Pentos, who was happy with a simple life, far away from the game of thrones.

But the damn game had demanded his participation and he could no longer refuse that last game, even knowing in advance that he had no chance of winning.

Recovering his mocking smile, he wondered how much damage he would do to the men in charge of his chase – that he was there, knocking at the door and voluntary giving himself up. For a long time he stood still in front of a guard who was watching the entrance. Purely out of arrogance, he chose the fiercest one. The man looked at him, angrier by his insolence than by the menace he could become.

Still, he had enough time to turn around, take the first ship available and get back home. The man tightened his sword's hilt and glanced at him with a threatening gesture. Jaime just had to look away, step back and disappear.

Even at that moment he could do go home, facing no further consequences...

"I want to see your Queen, boy." It sounded more like an order than a request.

After all, he was still a Lannister, and a Lannisters never begged or requested. Lannisters direct and lead.

He was the one making the decision; he had chosen the time and the place to face the Targaryen woman. Silly, but that idea made him feels satisfied.

To his surprise the guardsman took all that with hilarity. He called out his partner and pointed out at Jaime before bowing to him so dramatically that his sword scratched the floor. "Hey, Gion! Ser Begger asks for an audience with the Queen. Surely she will be wearing her best dress to take dinner with him, don't you think?"

Gion joined his partner's laugh and just for a moment both forgot Jaime. He crossed his arms, clearly showing his stump. The men stopped laughing and Jaime started to smile.

"I dare to say she has spent the last years of her life waiting for me. But if you don't believe me, just tell her that Jaime Lannister is here. I wouldn't be surprised if she herself comes to welcome me, as soon as she knows the Kingslayer wants to send his regards."

With no more laughing, both men took their swords quickly and aimed at him, suddenly deeming him a real threat. They studied him slowly: golden hair, green eyes, a stump on his right arm, cocky smile. Who else, besides the Kingslayer, could fit that description?

He continued smiling.

In the end —and his pride was mortally wounded because of that— the queen didn't show up to meet him. However, she made him feel welcome in many other ways. She sent him to a cell at the highest point of the reconstructed tower, a hard cot cover with straw, with a blanket, old but clean; bread, salad, meat and fresh water. It wasn't bad; he'd stayed at more humble inns on his way to the North.

And the climax of kindness: just a chain on his ankle. He could walk around his cell from corner to corner. Knowing his legs would be well exercised when his head fell off was reassuring. All that was a real improvement compared to his previous captivities. He couldn't complain, he even had a tiny window looking to the harbor. Thanks to the window, he found comfort imagining that if he tried very hard, he would see what was happening on the other side of the sea.

At the end of the day her Grace didn't honor him with her presence, nor did his brother Tyrion. Maybe they thought it necessary to break his will with uncertainty first. He would have liked to tell them they were losing their time because his will had never been stronger, and he had no doubts. He was sure his surrender itself was a death sentence, and he was ready to face it.

That was the right thing to do, he thought, looking to the sea illuminated by the last daylight. Perhaps that was the most honorable and noble deed he had ever done; nevertheless, it was also the most painful. When the dark of his first night covered him, so too did a great loneliness.

He would save the most precious thing he ever had, even if that meant losing it for him.


	2. 2 Night Three

2\. Night 3

To Jaime, the fear of death had never been the most frightening thing during his captivities. Not even torture pain and, though he wasn't particularly suited to face to face humiliation, what really could break him was tedium. Mortal boredom of having his shadow and the constant menace of his memories as his only companions.

Prior to his life in the free cities, his executioner had been a lot of horrors and memories that he tried to hide behind reminisces of pleasure.

Nowadays, however, the implacable memories were the times of happiness. And for them there was no other shelter than oblivion and he couldn't forget because those precious moments were the reason he was facing his current situation. Memories gave him strength and made him stand still.

He looked up at the untouched dishes they had given him earlier. Maybe it wasn't a banquet but the quality and quantity were beyond his expectations. He was under the watch of very sympathetic and generous jailers, though, and until then he hadn't seen anybody besides serving girls and guards.

It was getting dark. Among the few things he always enjoyed at King's Landing, its nights were at the top. Velvety skies starry and clean even in the deepest winter. He was watching through the window, contemplating the night, when some noises came behind the door. A while later, someone opened it. It wasn't the girl who should have come to collect the dinner dishes, nor was it a guard. The figure standing at the front of the door and approaching him with short steps didn't raise too much over the ground. He didn't seem to have aged too much since the last time he saw him. Tyrion Lannister: Hand of the present Queen, Lord of Casterly Rock, his brother, and his father's murderer.

For a long while they looked at each other as if that was the first time they had met. Awkward and unsure glances passed between them, neither knowing exactly what to do or say.

Jaime remembered perfectly the first time he saw his little brother. If he hadn't lost his right hand he was sure his little finger would be tickling, as if baby Tyrion was holding it again.

On that day, Cersei had stood tall, her chin up, hieratic; flaunting her dry eyes and a dignity that didn't suit a nine year old girl who just had lost her mother. She looked more worried about giving a good impression than for considering the chair which, from that moment, would be empty in the Casterly Rock dining hall.

Even though Jaime did not want to mimic his sister's behavior, he had to admire it. He hadn't learned to pretend by then, so he didn't bother to hide the tears that freely ran down his face; he didn't feel ashamed of them. Just then did he begin to taste the bitterness of loneliness, because through that difficult period his only comfort was Aunt Genna's arm around his shoulders.

After the service Tywin enclosed himself in the library, not letting anybody in, and eating only enough to not starve . Nobody spoke of little Tyrion. The boy was forgotten, left to the care of his wet nurse, alone and almost hidden, as if his mere existence was a shame or a crime.

At the beginning, Jaime looked in on him just for curiosity's sake. The baby, after all, was his little brother and he wanted to know him. Wrapped in velvets and resting in a fancy cradle, full of silks, laces and golden thread, the baby was alone in the dark, not moving at all. Jaime taught him sleep and opened the windows to look at him better.

Tyrion was awake and fixed his tiny and mismatched eyes on his older brother . He stretched his twisted and abnormally small legs lightly, and sighed deeply, as a grown man would. The first glance between the brothers was enough to make Jaime understand that, quite surely, of all the people in the entire castle, only his little brother could understand and share his loneliness. He kept thinking the same thing for many years.

When he lifted his hand to touch the baby, the boy took his little finger and held it tight, still looking up at him. He smiled at his brother, recalling his mother's words a few weeks before she died.

"You'll be his big brother and will teach him a lot of things. You're going to take care of him and protect him, aren't you, darling?" He promised it and embraced her tightly despite her huge belly.

The baby kept holding his finger, and at that moment Jaime felt he was starting to love his brother. He also knew that this love had nothing to do with the promised he made to his mother. Even though he renewed his vow to his mother's memory and to his brother, he'd always be near to protect him.

Another oath he had broken.

His mind returning to the present, Jaime looked down, defeated, and Tyrion took that as a cue to end the awkward moment. Before anyone could say a word, a girl opened the door and came inside carrying a tray with wine and a couple of glasses.

Tyrion took the only available chair and ordered the girl to serve a glass of wine to Jaime. He took it, but just drinking a sip to make it clear that he didn't distrust his brother.

"Why on earth did you have to give yourself in? Why do such a stupid thing right now?" Tyrion was straight to the point. There was anger in his voice.

"Well, you know me," Jaime sighed, taking a little sip of wine, "for the same reason I have done most of the stupid things in my life: to protect someone."

"To protect Brienne?" Jaime didn't answer. He wanted to trust in him, but the risk was too great. "She has never been in danger. The queen has nothing against her. She appreciated everything Brienne did at The Wall. Her only fault is being your wife, and the last time I knew, surrender to the Lannister charm it was not a crime," he laughed more relaxed.

"And all brothels in Westeros must be thankful for that," Jaime added, raising his glass and making a toast after Tyrion laughed at his joke.

"Did she agree to this?" Tyrion's voice filled with false suspicion . He knew the answer in advance.

Jaime had always hated this particular talent of his brother's. He could roughly find the topic of any conversation, no matter how hidden it was. No, of course Brienne had never let him do such thing, even knowing for certain that it was the best thing he could do.

"Let's just say that once she knew what I was doing, it was too late for her to stop me."

Every morning when he woke up, Jaime wondered how his wench would react after reading his letter. Did she cry or curse him? Or, even in her rage, would she take his entire existence and throw it into the mud?

"Then she is probably just about to arrive. And if I were in your shoes, brother, I'd be praying to the gods for a safe cell to keep me protected from my wife's rage," Tyrion smiled, cunningly. Jaime smiled briefly too.

"No. She won't come here," Jaime assured him, and glanced away. It was safer to change the subject.

Tyrion made himself comfortable in his chair, filled his glass again and pretended not to realize his uneasiness.

"You know," Tyrion went on in a chatty intonation, "long before you two reached the North, stories about you could be heard anywhere."

"The Kingslayer and his whore," Jaime stated with annoyance.

No matter how much he and Brienne had pretended to be immune to gossip and rumors, the cruelty of some of them still could hurt them - her, mainly.

"Some of them," agreed his brother. "There were others more… romantic. Worthy of songs," he glanced at him deeply. "I must confess, at the beginning I didn't believe all the gossip about your relationship with Brienne. Later, when I knew you had married, I doubted your true intentions. I thought you were only looking for a safe shelter, in case everything else failed." There was no censure in Tyrion's words. He spoke as a practical man who approved such a reason to wed a woman, any woman.

Jaime smiled, trying to conceal his bitterness. Not for the first time, he asked himself if he were someone other than the Kingslayer, would people think he had less paltry motivations for marrying Brienne? Although, as Brienne always said, nobody in all of Westeros would believe a man was willing to marry her for any other reason than the appealing incomes of Tarth.

"However, the first time I saw you together, it was clear enough to me. Of course you would never consent to sharing your life with a woman without love. Actually, I felt pretty stupid. Then I saw how you two can keep an entire conversation just through glances, and there was no doubt left to me - you really do love each other."

"Well, then, I have to congratulate you. You're a very wise man. It took me a little longer to understand how she felt about me," Jaime confessed without thinking.

Tyrion watched him, his eyebrows raised, but asked no more, for which Jaime was thankful.

"I'd never have pictured you with a woman like that," He added after a while. "I can't think of someone more different from Cersei."

"Maybe that was exactly what attracted me," Jaime said, thinking it wasn't such nonsense after all.

A long time ago, when he finally understood what he really felt for Brienne, his reflections were very alike to what Tyrion has just said.

Winter was starting to show its strength, and they only had a couple of furs between them. They were sitting together, trying to get warm, so close to each other and to the fire that it was a wonder their clothes weren't already burned.

It had been a long day and just as they finished eating, the wench started to doze off until she fell asleep with her head on Jaime's shoulder. The familiarity of her hair tickling his ear made him feel relaxed and calm. He carefully put her head over his knees and watched her sleep for a long while.

He didn't believe it possible that someone - not even her own father, who must love her so deeply - could find some beauty in her. Nevertheless, while she was sleeping, her face relaxed and the girl looked so young, sweet and naïve that in spite of her strength and size, he felt the savage instinct to protect her and make her happy bloom inside him.

It was pure reflex, he was sure, which pushed his hand to touch her wounded cheek. It felt uneven and cold, but not unpleasant. By the end of the brief caresses he simply knew it: he loved her. Not just like a friend or a partner at arms. He had fallen in love with her.

The realisation came to him naturally, without surprise or shock. It was like being inside a maze and taking the final turn to find the exit. Like placing the last piece of the puzzle and looking at the entire painting for the first time.

When she felt his hand on her face she opened her eyes, drowsy and confused, weary but smiling, as only someone who has just had a nice dream could. There, in the middle of a cold forest, full of dangers, without any comforts, with no bed or any shelter, she seemed happy. She was so full of contrasts: so fierce and unappealing externally, so vulnerable and beautiful on the inside.

"Go back to sleep, Brienne," he said to her softly, caressing her hair. "I'll do the first watch tonight."

And for once, she obeyed with no further protest. She closed her eyes and, after a soft sigh, she fell asleep again, placidly. Jaime kept caressing her with the naïve hope of being able to chase away her nightmares by doing so.

She was so young and naïve, so different from Cersei.

"Until the day her head rolled on the floor, Cersei swore that your marriage to Brienne was nothing more than foolish gossip..."

Jaime was unable to suppress a grimace. Despite everything, he didn't find any consolation in his sister's death. Especially now, when he was so close to following in her footsteps and facing the same executioner.

"If you tell me where she is I can send for her," Tyrion suddenly said, returning Jaime's mind to the present. "I would ensure her safety during the trip, and she would be treated with all the respect due to her rank. She could be here for your trial. You could...

Tyrion got emotional with that last sentence. He couldn't find the courage to finish the line, but the unsaid see her for the last time and say goodbye stuck in his throat. The implicit end of the sentence was so cruel, as if he should have shouted it or, as if, with his silence, he had stamped his signature and sealed the decree of his brother's death sentence.

"No. I'm not going to make her go through this," Jaime replied, with gratitude and determination.

Brienne had already seen the man she loved dying in her arms once. Jaime wanted, in the future, for Brienne to remember and hold on to the good times. He didn't want her to remember him - his head stuck on a pike – becoming the protagonist in his wife's nightmares.

It was safer to have her far away until everything ended, for her own good and, for other reasons, which it was not yet suitable to confess to anyone.

"I'm doing all that I can to help you," Tyrion said, before leaving.

Jaime nodded.

He believed him, though he was also convinced that he wouldn't have any success. It was enough to know that he was trying. Understanding that his brother's resentment was no longer so intense was a better consolation that a vain hope.


	3. 3 Night Five

**So, after a ****very long time, finally I get a new Beta: Lauralina! So, chapter 3 is here. Please make my day and give me a review!**

**I alway forget this but, none of this wonderful characters belong to me =(**

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**3\. Night 5**

For Jaime, it would have been absurd to deceive himself pretending not to be disappointed by Tyrion's absence the next day. He tried to comfort himself by thinking that due to his brother position he would have the day full of activities and commitments, and visit his jailed brother was a luxury that Tyrion could not have every day. Unfortunately, although that notion reassured him regarding the relationship with his brother, it did nothing to ease his loneliness and boredom.

And the queen didn't seem interested in seeing him. When Jaime questioned Tyrion in this regard, he was evasive, ambiguous and changed the subject at the first opportunity. It was obvious that he knew more than he could say and Jaime decided not to press him, which was the only gift he could make to him as a sign of their gratitude.

And he had a lot to thank him for. After his visit he received an extra pair of blankets and now his food included a generous portion of a very good quality wine. Jaime had never shared his family's excessive love for wine, but knowing Tyrion was willing to have such detail made him feel better, so much better.

It was late afternoon when Jaime noticed the absence of the serving boy who daily brought him the dinner. He wasn't hungry, but he was welcome of anything that broke the solitude and could distract him of his memories and the wait. After a while, the door opened and a petite and fast figure appeared, carrying a tray that was obviously too large for the size of the carrier.

Jaime approached the girl with the intention to help her, but it was difficult to maintain the tray balanced with his sole hand, and the girl seemed quite inexpert, so all the meals were on the verge of falling.

He didn't complain anymore for the loss of his hand. When he did it or was reluctant to accept help, Brienne always reminded him that things were easier with two or three hands than with just one. Sometimes he wasn't sure if having someone as permanently installed in his thoughts was a blessing or a curse. What he only knew for sure, that there was nothing that he could do to help it.

Both ended up placing the tray on the table. The girl —she could not be much older than twenty—, gave him a weak smile of gratitude before doing a clumsy curtsey.

She was very beautiful. Thin, with milk white skin, and her very blond hair hidden behind a scarf. Her look was sweet and innocent. Very beautiful, yes; but she seemed to have no great serving experience. She glanced at the tray not knowing what to do next, bitting her lip before looking at him as if she was expecting for him to tell her what to do.

"My Lord Tyrion asked me to personally take care of you. He thought perhaps you'd like to share dinner with me." She said as an apology, and then added looking at him with something mistrust-like, almost as if she were evaluating him. "And perhaps also...your bed."

For a moment she looked at him in the eye without blinking. Studying his reaction. Then she looked down to the floor with shyness that Jaime doubted very much was real. However, she did seem genuinely surprised to hear him laugh outright.

"I can see that the years have done nothing to lessen the perversions of your Lord Tyrion." He sighed as the girl let go a funny giggle.

Jaime wonder if his brother was really happy sharing the bed with a different woman every night or if that attitude was still an answer to what happened with Tysha years ago. Again, the weight of the blame fell on his back making him feel tired. Terribly tired.

The girl approached to him with slow steps, with movements shy and inviting, but with the look of a lost lamb. Sweet and naïve: Tyrion's type. Perhaps the girl had already experience with the Lannisters after all.

"What is your name?" He asked her stopping her hand when she approached with the intention of touching him.

The young girl seemed surprised; perhaps he had been too rough. He dropped her hand and the girl went back a step.

"Anya, my Lord." She answered after a while, frowning.

"Anya," he repeated, "you have no idea how much I'll enjoy your company at the table, but I only share the bed with my wife." he declared, as politely as he could.

The girl made a slight wince, but if her pride suffered some mortification with his negative, she recovered immediately. She took a seat before being invited and started eating some grapes very slowly. She didn't make the lightest attempt to serve him. Judging from the beauty of her hands, the girl was not used to any kind of rough work. Those hands should belong to a Queen, or at least to a woman who lives to caress, but it didn't fit to a service girl.

"The Lady Brienne is your wife, isn't she?" The girl did not expect response; spat the grape seeds very elegantly and continued speaking. "I have heard that she is..." the girl hesitated a few seconds. "That she is not very beautiful." She said with diplomacy.

Jaime could not contain a laugh. He sat next to the girl and served some wine in the glasses. The first sip left him savour too sweet for his taste, but nevertheless he still drank a little more before continuing.

"To say that my wife 'is not very beautiful' is as much as say the sea is 'not too dry'." Jaime recalled her with that surly face she put on every time he got her mad, with tense lips and wrinkled nose, but with the beautiful blue eyes lighting up her face. "Despite that, I know when my time comes it will be her face what I will be thinking about.

"You really must love her then." Whispered the girl with suspicion.

"More than life itself." He said with sincerity. "But I had never before estimated much my life, so maybe you cannot have a good idea of what I feel for her." Jaime said, although he seemed to speak for himself.

"But lady Brienne is so far away," said Anya, making a new attempt to approach him, "and she doesn't have to know what happens here. What she ignores cannot harm her. Out of sight, out of mind…"

Displaying all the sensuality that her young and well-formed body could provide, the girl approached him. Surely she could not be so innocent if she offered herself to him with such insistence.

"It would be on my mind." He pushed out the girl again, took a piece of bread and bit it more of habit than hunger. "That is a weight I don't want on my conscience when I die. And she doesn't deserve it."

Anya looked at him strangely, crinkled his lips and returned to her place. She was too beautiful and shouldn't be used to rejection. She was the opposite of Brienne.

He wondered for the thousandth time what she would be doing at that time. He imagined her fanning the fire before sitting down near the window, wrapped in that everyday life that he will never share again.

"If you love her so much, why didn't she come with you? Lord Tyrion said you refused to bring her to your judgment." Anya gave small sips to her drink.

Under the dim light of the only two candles in the cell, her light-colored eyes followed each one of his movements with curiosity.

"She has already gone through more than anyone should suffer in a lifetime. I don't want to force her to watch her husband being beheaded."

Jaime left the bread on the table and dragging the chain on his ankle he dropped in bed with both arms behind his head. He wanted to protect her, give her a better life and avoid her a greater sorrow. He wanted to make her happy, even if that meant letting her go.

"Are you afraid, ser Jaime?" It had been so long since the last time someone call him so, that he had to look again at the girl. "The Queen has spent so many time asking for your head, that it is certain she will not let you go alive. Are you afraid to die?" She asked him again with interest.

He sighed before answering. Most of his life he had bluffed with the idea of not fearing death. But there was no merit in that because he had never felt alive at all. He had always deemed death as his only way out of a life he had not voluntarily chosen. Now, it was different, he was not afraid to die, but to stop living. Expressed so it didn't have logic. Even if he found the idea reasonable, he doubted someone else, except Brienne, could understand that.

"I was afraid to leave behind the things that I care about." He answered at last. "But I already did that, so dying cannot be more difficult than that."

There was a moment of silence. He looked at the ceiling with disinterest, and when he tried to straighten the bed crunched outrageously. Anya laughed funny, taking the chance of ending the tense moment.

"I guess this cell must be horrible to you. Everyone says the Lannisters are so rich and live with so much luxury that even their latrines are made of gold."

Actually, what Jaime had heard was that Tywin Lannister shitted gold. But years ago his brother took the job of demystifying that fact and make clear to all Westeros, his father's gastrointestinal system worked just like everyone, and had the same ability to generate shit as everybody else.

To Jaime Lannister luxury had always been a disguise. A mask that could make him feel envied. Through luxury he could hide the sad fact he felt jealous even of the humblest beggar, because he, among his misery, was free and master of his destiny.

With all sincerity he could assure he didn't miss nor luxury or comfort. What he really missed was the chance to go anywhere without watching his back, change his name or try to modify his appearance. He missed having a place to call home, one that he didn't have to leave when someone suspicious turn out.

"The last place I lived in was not much better than this." He declared; Anya opened her eyes wide in surprise. "Remember I'm just a fallen Lannister, kid; a humble citizen of Essos who have to work hard to earn his living. He looked around analytically. "Although I had more furniture and the bed was much more comfy."

He sighed dramatically. He really missed his bed, and above all, missed the things that happened on it, especially what had happened that last night. Each drop of blood that ran through his body was imprinted with the memories of the final night with his wife. He could not say if it had been just as memorable to Brienne, who had not been aware it was that their last time together, but he had really loved it and had tried to memorize every moment, every touch, every kiss, every gasp of pleasure, each freckle caressed by his fingers.

Anya sat by his side and winced when she checked that the bed was indeed hard and uncomfortable.

"What did you do for living?" The girl asked, struggling to find a comfortable position.

Jaime lay down. The list was not long. Brienne and he were forced to pass unnoticed and keep a low profile, something that was hard to do when they were together. A handless man and a giant woman were so easy to notice as the midday sun. However, the last thing that they were willing to do was being apart from each other.

Jaime had suggested her several times to return to Tarth with her father, he had asked her even before leaving Westeros, but she didn't want hear about it. She was his wife and her duty was being at his side. Jaime thanked her, although he would have been happier if she had not used the word duty to emphasize the strength of her decision. In spite of that, for a long time, she seemed to be happy, laughed and argued with the usual enthusiasm. At that time they would have never considered being far away from each other.

At the beginning, when they still had some gold, they rented a small orchard and struggled to make it produce. The wench seemed to be cursed and her mere presence was enough to waste even the wild grass. After a few moons both of them were so tired of horticulture that after getting rid of the orchard they spent weeks without eating any kind of vegetable.

Jaime used to make fun of Brienne assuring her that, if she looked intensely at her spinach plate, they would turn to dust even though they were already cooked. She looked at him with a sour gesture, turned his spoon into a catapult and he ended up with half of the aforementioned spinaches on his face. Then she laughed and cleaned him up mixing kisses on his lips with punches on his ribs.

After that they tried their luck trading with spices and other items. Profits were good and they did not draw too much attention to themselves, but they were bored to death doing that.

However, it was thanks to trade that they found something that both of them enjoyed and made them truly happy. One of his contacts, after losing all his capital at Volantis offered them to pay his debt with a beautiful pair of breeding horses. The stallion only worth more than twice what the man owed them and, delighted, Jaime agreed. In a very short time they acquired two more mares and everything was blooming.

It was gratifying to see the foals growing up knowing that they would not see them die with a lance crossed through the neck or slaughtered with the legs broken. Of course, it was very likely that the animals would suffer a similar fate still, but neither he nor Brienne would be there to witness it. They could even name all their breeding animals and be unafraid to attach to them and then losing the animals...

Or at least they thought so.

"Was that what you were doing before coming here to give yourself in?" Inquired the girl, smiling when she realized the enthusiasm with which he spoke of the animals.

"No. One day we heard about a man that had arrived from Westeros asking too many questions," he stated with bitterness, "we had to sell everything and leave the city".

The wench had pretended not to give greater importance to the problem and acted tough, but Jaime knew perfectly that behind her mask of indifference she cried for the life that she had already come to love and for those animals which were practically part of their family, for the quiet cottage near the stable, for the cosy fireplace and for all the memories that they were about to leave again. Despite that, she was the first to persuade him that they had to leave without losing time. She did not hesitate even for a moment, and when they once again found themselves riding aimlessly and with a few coins in the bag, she was smiling.

They had just spent a couple of weeks trying to settle down on the outskirts of a small village near Pentos when the wench began to fell apart. She became quiet, absent, almost didn't eat, and showed no interest in anything nor allowed him to be close to her. She turned into a stranger, a shadow of who she had been. Even her health began to deteriorate.

And then he also began to crumble because he couldn't find any way to get her back to him. She was slipping from his hand like water through his fingers. Without her, he was as lost as a piece of cork in the middle of the ocean. He tried to find something to offer her, to save her. When each of his attempts failed, he understood that was just the beginning of the end. Although that end did not come for the reasons he originally imagined.

Jaime closed his eyes for a long time, so long that the girl, surely believing him asleep, rose of the bed and approached the door with an amazing stillness.

"Thank you for the company, Anya." Said Jaime when she knocked at the door so that the guard could let her go.

"Can I return another day, if my Lord wants someone to talk with." Suggested shyly.

"I'd like that." Jaime agreed with more enthusiasm than he cared to admit.

Any company was nice, anything that could prevent him to swallow his memories in loneliness.


	4. 4 Night Eight

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**4\. Night 8**

It was the second game of sitrang that they were playing that afternoon and Jaime didn't feel his skill or appreciation for the game were growing. Tyrion, effortlessly, seemed to guess each of his moves three or four times before he even had the chance to actually do them, and always put him on a situation impossible to revert since the beginning of the game.

Both of them had reached a kind of tacit agreement and whenever one of them felt tempted to touch one of theirs taboo subjects, the other lead the conversation toward safer paths.

A serving boy —Anya had not returned since their first meeting— arrived with another bottle of wine and immediately assisted Tyrion. Jaime had just given a couple of sips to his glass.

The table in which they were playing was large, with comfortable and tasteful armchairs. His new chamber was spacious, well lighted and had a large fireplace that kept him so warm as if he were at home. Even the bed was so soft that he could bounce on it if he let himself fell with force.

The chain on his ankle had also disappeared, but he still had a couple of guards standing by his door because, after all, he was still the Kingslayer: a man with no honor.

It seemed illogical, but the change of bed had disturbed him. The previous was uncomfortable, right, but small and he had slept well in it. This one was too big. So large, that the empty half beside him didn't allow him to sleep. He stretched his hand and his fingers didn't find others to link with. There was no other body to stop him when he rolled on. Who could sleep that way?

On the deepest of the night, in that limbo created exactly between vigil and unconsciousness of sleep, Jaime could feel Brienne at his side. He could swear that the mattress curved by her weight; could feel her breath on his face and their knees colliding. He could even listen to those soft purrs that the wench exhaled while she stretched her ridiculously long body and attempted to wake up.

After losing the hand, Jaime had experienced the sensation of still having it. He felt his fingers; he was sure that he could move them and even could feel the nails in the palm when he clenched the inexistent fist. "Phantom limb" Qyburn had called the sensation. He assured to him the effect was frequent in all types of amputations and would disappear after some moons. And indeed, it did.

When Jaime felt so alive the presence of his wife on the other side of the bed, he recalled that feeling. She had also been amputated of his life and instead only remained a ghost that he couldn't touch. Each morning, when he woke up, he ran to the window and wondered if she would also have a ghost to share her bed with. But now his window didn't face the sea and without that connection he felt her more far away than ever.

A couple of days ago a guard had come to remove his ankle chain. With more consideration that anybody had shown to him, the man asked that he follow him.

Jaime couldn't help to feel certain nervousness thinking that he finally would go to face the Queen, but his hopes —if it could be called that— were soon frustrated. He was been taken to what should have been a guest's room. Later he received some very good quality changes of clothes. That was a decent treatment for one of the lesser Lannister, definitely much more than what a common prisoner deserved.

He began to understand the true influence of Tyrion at the Court. He didn't dare to hold out any hope regarding his life, but perhaps...

"I suppose should that I should thank you for the improvements of the last days." He said, referring to the new room and also to Anya's company, even when he had not enjoyed it as his brother originally planned.

"No. You shouldn't." Tyrion replied bluntly, made his move with tedium before giving another sip to his drink.

He spent a long time tasting the wine before continuing with the conversation.

"A few days ago, I received a letter from Myrcella." He told him with indifference, but looking at him from the corner of the eye, evaluating his reaction.

Jaime had tried to be closer to his daughter and that failure still was painful to him. He had written to her several letters that she did not answer. In the last one, before heading to the North, he suggested the idea of going to visit her to Dorne and she politely thanked for his concern but asked him to keep his distance. She didn't address to him as his father nor even as his uncle. Her cold 'ser Jaime' made it clear she didn't desire any kind of relationship with him.

Tommen and Cersei had died during the taking of King's Landing, so the only family left to him was the one that he had with Brienne. And still he wasn't sure about Tyrion.

"Is she happy?" From his own experience he knew that was the key question to get to know how a person really was feeling. He didn't mind if she had power or wealth, Jaime only wanted to know if she loved and was loved, if she felt safe.

"Judging by the way she writes, I would say yes, but..."

Jaime stopped pretending he was planning his next move and that the life of Myrcella wasn't among his priorities. Until Tyrion replied he found himself absurdly looking for a way to help her if it was necessary, but considering his situation the idea was so absurd that he had to laugh at his own stupidity. So typical of the Kingslayer, evade the responsibility of being close to his children when he had the chance, and wanted to do it when it was out of his reach.

"You were about to become a grandfather," Tyrion paused to give a greater effect to his words and waited until Jaime looked at him in the eye before continuing. "Unfortunately she had some complications and suffered a miscarriage."

The news surprised him. Even knowing that Myrcella had been married for a long time he never imagined becoming a grandfather; he neither had imagined being a father, though. And being honest, in fact he had never been one.

Cersei had left him to get her pregnant three times. Three times she allowed another man to legitimate his children; Joffrey, Myrcela nor Tommen never had a real father. He didn't bother to participate in their education, neither Robert did.

It was hard for him to admit that each time Cersei didn't allow him to approach their children he felt relieved. Of course, he had no idea how take care of a child. His only close example, his own father, was not a role model to be follow. His high expectations for him made him feel frustrated, and the low expectations that Tywin had for Tyrion became his brother into a bitter man. And Cersei... she never represented more than a coin.

When he listened to Brienne and Sansa speak of their fathers, he imagined that Selwyn and Ned should be a good example to follow, because in their voices there was no hidden fear or angst, but respect, love and admiration.

Years ago, he had vowed, that if life granted him a new chance, he would put effort to imitate those men and be a father with all the rights and obligations that were implied.

Destiny, however, had always done its best to make fun of all Jaime's good intentions, twist them or turn them into a dead end.

"Is she ok now?" He asked staring at his stump, as he did whenever any of his past mistakes exploded in his face.

"A little sad, but she is very young. She will get over it sooner than you think." Said Tyrion with confidence.

Yes, Jaime knew that women get over to that. Eventually they would smile again, to make plans, they would move on.

At least they did in appearance.

He recalled his last days on the wall.

In a rare moment of good sense, when the menace that haunted all Westeros from the North threatened to not leave any realm to fight for, all decided to join forces to end the common enemy before to continue to annihilate each other. Dragons and armies achieved a victory, but nobody felt with the mood to celebrate. The loose of lives were too many and the nightmare was still too close to feel safe.

They all just had spent a few days licking wounds like injured animals would do, when someone informed them that part of the Targaryen army was heading for Castle Black. After taking King's Landing on their way towards North, Daenerys Targaryen was —in practice at least— the one who ruled over all Westeros. Jaime was not so naive to believe that what he had done on the Wall would be enough to obtain the pardon of the new Queen, who surely had spent all her life dreaming of having his head stuck on a pike or, considering their family's fondness for the fire, see him consumed up to the bones in the middle of a valyrian bonfire.

At that time the decision he had to make would have been easier if his crazy impulses didn't have Brienne tied to him. He knew, without the need to ask, that the honor and loyalty of the wench would be even stronger than the vows pronounced before a Septon and she would stubbornly insist on share his destiny, whatever this could be.

Even so, he begged her to return alone to Tarth. She refused. Crossed arms, wrinkled forehead and sour gesture, the wench reminded him that, as his wife, his duty was to stay by his side.

Then Jaime, as her husband, ordered her to come back home with her father, and Brienne laughed before turning away and began to prepare their mounts to depart towards Eastwatch without delay. Surprisingly he felt that he was falling in love with her once again.

They rode for nearly two days just resting a few hours and almost without eating. When they arrived at the port and luckily found a merchant ship that was about to leave for Lorath, they were already half frozen, exhausted, starving and willing to board any ship, even if its destination was one of the seven Hells.

The ship, although of a good size, seemed to have more years than the Wall itself, and by the way that was cracking when they boarded it, Jaime feared they would wrecked before dawn. The ship's captain was a thin and dark man who, like his ship, seemed about to break if the wind blew a bit more, but he assured them, with a confidence that verged on pedantry, that his ship would continue sailing until the narrow sea was dry.

Despite the captain's optimism, the disaster came, although not in the way of a shipwreck as Jaime had feared.

Hardly a few hours after they lost sight of the coast, Brienne insisted on resting in the tiny cabin they had assigned. If Jaime hadn't know that his wife was born and raised on an island and was as used to the sea as to breathe, he would have assumed that the constant swaying of the ship was playing a dirty trick on her. She was sweating, her skin white as snow. Just a few steps from the bed, Jaime had to hold her before she could fall. He hardly had time to lay her down when she began to bleed profusely. There was no maester on board and the presence of the captain's wife was not really required to confirm them that she had just suffered a miscarriage.

Brienne simply nodded stoically and let the improvised midwife attended to her. Later, in complete silence, allowed Jaime to lay by her side. She buried her head on his chest and remained thus for hours, without crying, without saying a word, almost without moving, leaving him caress her hair, while the waves lulled them gently as their only palliative.

Jaime never knew if her subsequent paleness was only due to the loose of blood, to the sadness of the child they had lost, relief, or for the uncertainty for what waited for them on the other side of the sea.

On the other hand, he was never sure of what he had felt. Until then he had not been aware of Brienne's condition. He had no chance to feel hope or to worry and his memories about those days were filled with the anxiety caused to him by the idea that she could not recover or, eventually, that she began to accuse him for their lost child. Cowardly he never asked her how she felt about what had happened.

Jaime could live without children, without a hand, without his white cloak, without Casterly Rock, gold or properties, without family or friends; but without her, he did not have any reason left to go on, of that much he was sure.

At dawn, her first words as she watched sunset were: "We are safe now". Jaime knew better than that, they would never be safe again. But he also knew she needed to hold on to that naive hope and he, still holding her strongly in his arms, nodded.

They never talked again about what happened. Time passed and Brienne never got pregnant again and they assumed, without saying so in words, she had become barren after what happened on the ship. If one of them had wished for children they just gave up to that hope in silence and without any reproach. They had other things to be grateful for. She did not stop repeating they would be safe far away from Westeros, and innocently believed that until that first time they were forced to flee.

He was deeply grateful for his wife had recovered her health so quickly, even if he kept that thought for him. His wench was strong; she had proved to him on countless occasions, and he also felt grateful for that.

Many times, when he found her caressing one of the newborn foals, Jaime wondered if she was thinking of their unborn child. Did she mourn for the lost or tough that what had happened as a more compassionate fate? Because, after all, what kind of life might have that kid? Doomed to flee from one place to another without ever having a place that he or she could call home. However, Jaime frequently was dreaming of his children. With Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and also with that little one who did not have the chance to born.

Perhaps Brienne also dreamed of his child, with plump hands and a pair of sapphire blue eyes, with a laugh that got inside her head so deep that made impossible to wonder if the dream was a blessing or a curse. Sometimes Jaime wanted to talk to her about it, but then he thought that maybe if the wound was already closed, would be cruel to reopen it.

"You could write to her. She has asked me a couple of times for you..." Tyrion confessed, talking about Myrcella.

Jaime shook his head. He was convinced that the best he could do for his daughter was respect her will and keep her away from the bad reputation of the Kingslayer.

"I think she was very clear on wanting nothing to do with me. And she's right." He tried to sound disinterested.

"You should not give up so fast."

Jaime could not avoid a snort. Considering his head was almost touching the edge of the axe, it seemed to him that 'fast' was not the proper word to be used. However, Tyrion wasn't the first person to give him that advice. "Brienne told me the same thing when Myrcella refused to receive me in Dorne."

"You married a smart woman." The little man said, making his key move with a gesture of boredom.

"Well, she must have some fault. Otherwise, she would have never married to me." Jaime joked, watching distractedly the board and moving his piece without much analysis. "When this is over, make her know that I would have liked to be a better father to —her." He added after a while.

Tyrion nodded swallowing hard. "I'm sure, somehow, she already knows." Reassured him Tyrion.

Jaime smiled bitterly. He would have liked so much to be a better father for all his children.

With Joffrey, he never had the chance. He died being a stranger to him, a stranger that he came to despise, but that was something he could only confessed to himself and to Brienne.

With Tommen he had no time. When he first learned of his and Cersei's death he was weeks away. The official version was that a traitor had infiltrated in the fortress and poisoned both of them. Jaime was sure that the death came from the same hand of Cersei, who once knowing they were lost, chose to become her own executioner and offer an equal fate to her only living son. The little and plump Tommen, with his sweet eyes and his cats.

He could not blame Myrcella for holding a grudge to him, for trying to forget him along with all the humiliations suffered after becoming public her true origin.

It was true that in his youth Jaime had never dreamed of being a father. But, eventually, he had come to desire to be a man capable to warrant the well being of the children he had already fathered. Unfortunately, no matter how he played, life was determined to not let him win that game.

"You lose again." Said Tyrion after making his final play, with an almost prophetic tone.

Jaime smiled with sorrow.


	5. 5 Night Nine

**Another update, but remember if you want more chapters and soon, please review it.**

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**5\. Night 9**

"This really is a very nice chamber." Said Anya, the first time that she went through the room. "The Queen is a very generous person, my Lord".

"I did not expect being treated so kindly, I have to admit." Accepted Jaime, while the girl was still supervising every detail of the room. "Although..." Anya then stopped and looked at him raising her eyebrows almost offended. "Although," continued Jaime, "I think this generosity is a sign of appreciation towards my brother. But that also speaks well of your queen." Concluded Jaime.

"Why? Because your brother is a Lannister?" Asked the young girl with her arms crossed over the chest and a very arrogant tone.

Jaime was amused by the girl's attitude. She obviously felt great loyalty towards her queen and that also spoke well of Daenerys. Aerys inspired terror among his servants and close advisors, not respect or loyalty.

Anya was nice. He guessed Tyrion should like her too. Surely he would find very funny that insolence disguised as shyness and probably that was the reason he sent her to him.

"No, not for being a Lannister, but because Tyrion is a smart man. Be close to smart people and let them advise you is a prove of good sense."

"Your father was also King Aerys' Hand and they not ended up well." Said Anya in a gloomy tone.

"No," Jaime sighed with regret, his father was an extraordinarily skilled and capable man, but proud and inflexible and Aerys... better don't think about him. "But they lacked of something Tyrion and your queen do have: justice and compassion."

Then Anya relaxed her arms and for a long time she studied him until she seemed convinced of his sincerity. Then she looked down to the floor.

"The queen is a compassionate person;" she assured him. "At least, it seems to me that she tries to be; but I don't think her compassion would allow her to spare your live, my Lord..."

There was some sadness in the girl's voice, with made Jaime to thank her with a smile, as Anya still with her head down, placed herself in a place next to him by the table.

"I came here to die, kid. I do not ask or hope the compassion of your queen. I just want to believe that she will be fair with my wife and will leave her out of any quarrel she has with me."

Somehow, his words sounded almost like a prayer. And he had lost faith so long ago that the idea seemed ridiculous.

"I am sure that the queen won't harm Lady Brienne." Said the girl with confidence. "Even if you and Lord Tywin didn't have the same generosity towards her father and the rest of her family." Anya accused him.

"I would have given my life to save Rhaegar's." Snapped Jaime offended.

Jaime went to the window and remembered that strange man who held more fondly his harp than his sword. For some reason he always remembered him singing or playing an instrument and not wielding a weapon. Sometimes he thought of what would have happened if Tywin had succeeded in trying to marry Rhaegar to Cersei. She would have fallen in love, they could have been happy. He, of course, would have searched the death in every damn battle until he found it. But at least a couple of wars would have been avoided. Everything would have been so different.

He would have never known Brienne. He would never…

"But you did kill her father... Of the four kings that my Lord served, you killed one and left the rest die." The voice of Anya took him out of his sad reflections.

Two of those Kings had been his children, and one would have been a bigger threat to the realm as Aerys. Would he have had the courage of ending Joffrey's life as he had done with Aerys? That question still made him shiver.

The girl looked at him with insolence and her accusatory gesture suddenly exacerbated him. Jaime had seen that look before, when he was six years old and the maester in charge of his education disciplined him and forced him to spend long hours standing and reciting the recent history of each major House of Westeros. He endured the surly man's gaze and punishment, because he knew, that if his father heard about his disobedience, he would be forced to spend a whole afternoon listening the high expectations everybody had for the future Lord of the Rock, and how Jaime was remained far below it.

But he wasn't a child anymore and had no need to justify himself to a service girl, no matter how amiable she could be. As lonely as he felt, would not allow anyone to judge him. Not even Daenerys Targaryen, he would accept her verdict, but he would not give her any explanation.

"It's late. I think you should go." He said with the colder and more Lannister tone he could find.

For a moment the girl looked confused, and she stood up and gave a couple of faltering steps towards the door. But thenshe came back and returned to her place.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I didn't want to offend you. I was just repeating what people say. It was not my intention to judge you." Jaime did not bother to look at her; he was tired of people judging him without even trying to know his reasons. Suddenly, loneliness not seemed unpleasant at all.

Jaime lay down in the bed hoping that the girl would understand the hint and leave him alone at once. She didn't, and slowly approached the table and began to sniff the food with the eyes of a kid in front of a tray of lemon cakes.

"Would my Lord be bother if I eat something before I go?" She asked humbly.

He shrugged and the girl didn't wait for another invitation. She took a seat, served a small portion on her plate and began to eat slowly. Jaime hardly saw her eating a few bites before he began to feel sleepy; Anya's slow and studied movements caused him a deep drowsiness that he did not try to fight.

"You are right, the Queen appreciates your brother very much and that's another reason for you to remain calm, Lady Brienne will not suffer any damage, I am sure that the Queen will respect her."

"That is the only thing that matters to me." He said, with his eyes closed. "The only thing that matters."

"I suppose your wedding must've been a very big event." Murmured Anya, Jaime was no longer sure if he was awake. His memories did not need any extra encouragement to come to him, sleep or awake; they were always strong and vivid.

"No, I am afraid that our wedding was far from being the event of the season." He smiled with melancholy. "We got married at the Wall. Before a battle and we thought that our marriage would only last a few hours."

Dream or memory, he suddenly found himself reviving that afternoon. Standing in front of the septon, as he said his vows and tried very hard to ignore the fact that those were his last hours. He only had to concentrate on Briennes's eyes and anything else lost importance.

He knew that few people were loyal to him, of course, no one as fiercely as Brienne. He was sure she respected him, and her care for him was beyond gratitude, but until that day he did not understand that she was also afraid of losing him.

Everyone knew the wench was his 'right-hand man'. She was his second in command and his firmer supporter, whether in the battlefield or at the time of taking decisions. She was always by his side taking the place of his missing right hand.

However, during the last meeting the wench was making gestures, murmuring and finding faults to everything he said. The rest of the men began to hide giggles and mocking looks that Brienne seemed delighted to encourage by contradicting him openly.

Yes, the plan was something more than risky. Whatever way you approach it, it was a suicidal mission, but it was the only thing they could do to keep the danger away from Eastwatch and allow reinforcements to disembark without being slaughtered before their feet touch land.

Before he could finish explaining the plan the wench tighten her lips, left the council chamber with a hurricane's force and slammed the door. Jaime was forced to remain impassive.

"I think, gentlemen, our Lady is dealing with some difficult days and we'll have to carry on without her." He tried to joke, and after getting some forced laughter he continued refining the final details.

He made it until the meeting's final suppressing the desires of going after her to shake her and put her in her place. That behavior was completely unusual on her. She was usually the first to support him, even during those first days when everyone heard him with suspicion and were against his plans.

It had taken him a few moons to gain the confidence of those men, and he wasn't willing to let anyone, not even Brienne, destroyed all his work.

He was the first to leave the council chamber and without a second thought went out to look for her, while he explored halls and chambers all his false tranquility left him, and when he remembered the way in which she had faced him in front of all his men, the fury invaded him again. She, better than anybody, must know how important was to have the respect and confidence of the people under his command during a battle. Her behavior was totally inexcusable.

When he finally found her, he already felt the desire to leave her hanging from the top of the Wall for a few hours. Especially when he noticed that she was also looking at him with anger and that she was about to explode. That was already bordering the limits of madness.

"Who, by the seven hells, do you think you are to disobey me like this?" He roared taking her by the arm with such force that the wench turned around by the same impulse.

She had the freckled face red of fury and he almost could hear her teeth grinding.

"I won't support such stupidity and neither allow you underestimate me in front of everyone." She yelled releasing her arm before shoving him against the wall with all her strength.

The shove made him hit his elbow and the pair of ribs that were still sore from the previous battle. He thanked the pain, physical pain was easy to control, it helped him to clear his mind and get focus.

"I gave a damn order and you are going to obey it, if you want to remain here. Otherwise take your belongings and get out right now. It's your decision." Unlike her, he did not yell, but never, even during their first encounter, he had spoken to her so coldly.

For a brief moment she seemed surprised, hurt even; however, she recovered immediately and returned to face him.

"I am as capable as any of the men you chose to go, and I am complete... that makes me more able than you. Why do I have to stay here?" She tried to moderate his tone but did not dare to look at him in the eye. "You're going to go at the front, aren't you?" Of course, although she had left the meeting before he informed who would be in charge of the mission, Brienne had known that since it was Jaime the one that suggested the idea. "Let me go with you." She begged him, finally surrendering.

"I cannot order my men to do something I am not capable to do." He explained lowering his voice. "And I need you here in my absence. I need someone who has all my confidence to take care of things if I do not return. Do you understand that?"

He took her hand, this time with kindness, but she tried to get away. It was then that Jaime got it. She was scared, she was afraid for him. All his anger had vanished.

The wench was right, she was much more capable than most of the men he had at his command. He had seen her many times in combat and knew what was able to do; however, at that moment Brienne was only a young girl, vulnerable and insecure.

She tightened her lips and quickly wiped a rebel tear that unauthorized slipped by her cheek. She nodded reluctantly.

He had never noticed how long and blondes were her eyelashes. He was already so close to her that in the midst of an outburst and without even thinking about it, he grabbed her wrist while he kissed her with tenderness that overflowed him.

And she kissed him back. At the beginning with clumsiness and insecurity, but then her enthusiasm was intensified to the point she seemed unable to breathe if her lips were not glued to his. Jaime had fantasized about the idea of having her between his arms for so long that before he could notice they were already in his chamber, awkwardly taking off their clothes and cursing each time they were forced to separate their lips.

She quickly overcame the shyness, perhaps because she understood that they had very little time for that. There were no explanations or fervent declarations. The promises were a luxury they could not afford and they have so little time that losing a second seemed a sin that none of the Seven could forgive them.

Jaime would have wished to spend hours studying and memorizing her body, testing it with calm and, after a long analysis, choose his favorite spot to kiss her and find the exact places that could make her shudder. But life has just given him a few minutes and he wasn't willing to waste time lamenting what could no longer be. He made that every second count for both of them, and yet he blessed his fate for granted him that last wish.

Barely a couple of hours later they returned to the council chamber hand in hand, smiling and ignoring the mocking eyes of the few men that still remained there. Jaime assigned the latest missions and gave a couple more of orders until gradually he and Brienne were left alone again.

Jaime would leave early in the morning, and everyone had left eager to make the most of that could easily be their last hours of life. Wine had begun to run abundantly hours before, while they were still receiving orders. The dining room awaited them with the best banquet that could be expected with their limited resources.

"Let's eat something, wench," he said, scrolling the latest maps before taking her by the waist and looking at her as if he were about to undress her again. "You left me exhausted." He whispered in her ear.

He nosed her neck just to be sure to have left her well impregnated with his aroma. He nibbled her earlobe only to left engrave her taste in his mind and he smiled warm and happy when she blushed to the root of the hair. He kissed her gently, without haste, daydreaming with the idea that he could continue to do so for many more years to come.

Jaime had always ensured he only felt fully alive when was in the middle of a battle or in bed. Now he deemed himself the luckiest men on Westeros because he could share both experiences with the same woman, with his woman.

"No. I prefer to attend the Septon's service before." She confessed, almost embarrassed that someone might guess she was eager to pray for him. Pray for a miracle that could make him come back to her safely.

Jaime didn't believe that praying to the gods would be effectlier on a battle than a good sword, but he also understood the kind of comfort that could provide a little bit of spirituality, the peace of mind of believing that the Gods approved and blessed each decision taken.

"Let's go together then." He held her hand as she smiled in a sweet and naïve way.

Jaime knew he had failed many times at the moment of taking the best choice, but as he walked hand in hand with Brienne, he was also sure that the Gods, if they even existed at all, had send this woman into his life to finally point him out the right path.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the Hall and before she could imitate him he made the decision.

"Marry me." She opened her mouth, but failed to articulate any sound. "Right now".

He did not need to argue that it was certain that they wouldn't have any more occasions. It was implied that their chances of survival were few and, above all, he wished that his relationship with her, no matter how short it could be, were not a clandestine one.

She did not hesitate; after all, the damage to her reputation of being the Kingslayer's respectable widow couldn't be worst than being his mistress. She nodded slightly, and she almost looked pretty at the moment.

At the end of the world, in the middle of the night, with a ragged septon and a borrowed cloak, Brienne of Tarth became his wife, and her only wedding gift was the certainty that she could become also his widow in a few more hours.

Still now, he remembered how distracted he had been during the ceremony. For some reason all his attention was focused in the hand of Brienne holding his, tied to his. It seemed amazing that a hand so rough could be at once so gentle and provide such soft and delicate caress. The septon had to cleared his throat and ask him twice to say his vows because he could not remove the eyes of their intertwined hands. She smiled, seemed happy as a peasant bride in love and waiting excited the start of her new life.

The septon ended the ceremony and announced them they were officially husband and wife. However, Jaime did not quite feel it so. He had not felt that she really belong completely to him earlier, when she gave herself to him for the first time.

The few men who attended as witnesses, clapped and whistled while they kissed. If they were surprised or did not approve what was happening they all dissimulated very well and congratulated them with enthusiasm. After all, he had been stripped of his white cloak a long time ago and his presence in the Wall was merely voluntary.

Miraculously, three days after he returned from the mission; wounded and tired but alive. She attended his wounds and then lay beside him. They spent the night embraced; he was too sore and weak to do anything else. The next morning when he woke up, Brienne was still by his side, in his arms. Drowsy she opened her eyes and greeted him with an almost childlike smile.

"I love you, my lady wife." He greeted her back, removing part of the straw-colored hair that covered her eyes.

"And I love you, my lord husband." She answered in the middle of a sigh, before approaching to him with renewed shyness."

Just then he felt she was really his wife.

Jaime did not open his eyes until the next morning. Anya and the leftovers of the meal were not in the room anymore.


	6. 6 Night Eleven

**This is the last chance for this story. If you don't like it, this will be the last chapter, so, if you want the missing chapters don't forget leave your review.**

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**6\. Night Eleven**

Jaime tried hard to remember. The image of a skinny, freckled and small girl, dark eyes, reddish hair, small teeth, but contagious smile and fine features came to his memory. The girl could not have more than thirteen years old, but, at that age, to her the eleven years of Tyrion must made him look like a small child and the fifteen of Ser Roman's squire surely made him look like a grown man in the girl's eyes.

That was the first time that Tyrion ever felt a greater interest to someone of the opposite sex person rather than a book. The girl, of course, sighed whenever the squire passed by her side but paid to Tyrion no more attention than she did to the dust in her shoes.

The girl was the daughter, granddaughter, or niece of a second class Lord to the Lannisters' service, but by the importance she gave herself anyone would have thought she was the heiress to the throne. Tyrion looked at her with dissimulation and even when he tried to pretend disinterest, Jaime only needed a couple of hours to realize his younger brother had finally discovered women.

"She was very pretty." Said Tyrion staring absently to the roof, Jaime didn't even try to tell him otherwise. "But she continued sighing for that squire until the day the gods made him shit in his pants in the middle of a tournament award ceremony." Tyrion smiled maliciously.

"The gods received some help." Jaime confessed. "It cost me one of my best saddles to find someone able to get results at the appropriate time."

For a few seconds Tyrion looked at him with disbelief, then he laughed and Jaime did not hesitate to join him.

"The kid needed some humbleness." Said Tyrion. "I must have suspected since then that the gods would never be so fair." Jaime nodded pretentiously. Slowly the smile blurred of the face of Tyrion. "And also I should have known that my older brother would be so interested in my love life." He added with a cold voice and a stern gesture.

Jaime sighed weary. He knew that at some point the truce between him and Tyrion would end and the thorny issues would replace the happy childhood memories. He looked at his brother and the wounded expression of his eyes did not foretell him anything good. The pain was still present.

He looked for refuge from his brother's gaze staring at the most distant point on the ceiling.

"If I had known what our father intended to do I would have never allowed it."

Tyrion snorted loudly.

"What could have I thought? She had just met you for a couple of hours and she married you! I thought I was doing the best thing for you, I thought that I was protecting you. But I swear I had no idea of what my father had planned for the girl."

One of the men had told him how more than twenty of his father's guards had raped the girl and then he even gloated on the fact that he himself had done it twice, Jaime could not believe that had been done under his father's commands. He didn't want to hear anymore, and he slapped the man and, without thinking about, went to his father, thinking stupidly that those could not be his orders. But, displeased, Tywin Lannister just looked at him and reminded him, once again, that Tyrion needed a lesson. He never refused that it had been his idea.

"Tysha." Tyrion roared, standing up suddenly. "Her name was Tysha."

"You can't really believe that I would have agreed to something like that. You can't believe that…

His voice was a mixture of plea and disbelief, disappointment and frustration. The image of Tyrion as a child came to his mind with a startling clarity. When he was four years and he stumbled often and clung to his knee to hold on. At his seven years, when he bothered him with all sort of questions about tournaments, horses and dragons; or at nine, when it was he the one that sought Tyrion out looking for a distraction with his childish talk and forget all the recent horrors of Aerys. Some times, Tyrion annoyed him, mostly when what he really wanted was to be alone with Cersei; but once satisfied his desire he always found a way to reward his brother for those moments of abandonment. A gift or spending a day in the forest always seemed sufficient for Tyrion.

It was possible that boy that idolized him and saw him as if he were the hero of a song was the same man that now believed him capable of doing something so cruel to hurt him?

He stared him in the eye until it was Tyrion who turned his gaze.

"So, do you still hate me?" Asked Jaime finally, afraid of the answer.

"I wanted revenge." He agreed, sitting down again, but with the voice quiet and serene. "I wanted to find a way to hurt you as much as you had hurt me. I wanted to see you suffer, but I think that I never actually hated you.

Jaime didn't know what to think of that, however he was convinced that his brother's desire of revenge had been fully satisfied.

"Dear brother, you can consider yourself avenged now." He accepted smiling, as if he had just lost a game of cards and not his whole life.

"Don't be an idiot." He snapped in bad way. Since you left I've been watching your back. I lost your trail a year ago, when you left Braavos. I thought both of you were fine. Even their business with the horses seemed to prosper. If I had known you were planning make this stupid thing... I thought you were happy…" He repeated confused.

"We were." Jaime said. "I was." He added more cautiously.

Of course they endured some hardships, nothing serious, considering that both had survived months in the North, in the road, captive and hungry. They quarreled a lot, but Jaime suspected if they did that so frequently and over such a silly things, was because both of them were kind of addicts to reconciliations. They had moments of silence and bad dreams, but even before leaving Braavos holding hands was enough to escape them.

As soon as they settled near Pentos, the last home they shared, everything changed. She didn't let him approach to her. Their longest conversations were not more than ten words long and she wasn't even able to look at him in the eyes. She had nightmares that he wasn't already able to chase away. It took him almost three moons to summon the courage to accept the inevitable.

He threw a couple more of logs to the chimney before running his eyes through the room. It seemed cozy to him, small, but comfortable and with everything they needed. There was no way to compare it with the amenities of Casterly Rock and Evenfall, but he was sure that he had never been completely happy at the Rock and despite her father's love, he doubted very much that Brienne had been happy in Tarth's castle.

However, when he finished to fuel the fire and looked at her, he had the certainty that, at the time, the wench was not happy. Few times he had seen her so quiet and distracted. Throughout the day she had hardly eaten a bit of cheese and only under the threat of force her if she didn't do it willingly.

"Brienne, we need to talk." He stood in front of her to get her full attention.

"I'm not hungry, that's all..." She kept staring to the shirt that she awkwardly tried to mend, thinking that he would be satisfied with that excuse and would leave her alone.

He didn't do that and, when she left her work trying to get away, Jaime was fast enough to take her arm to stop her.

"I think you should go, Brienne." He didn't have the courage to look at her in the eyes. "Your only crime is being my wife. Your father will receive you delighted in Tarth and no one will chase you. You'll be safe in your home. Perhaps you could even get our marriage nulled...

"I don't know what you are talking about. This," she pointed at the room with her hand, "is my home." She snapped.

"No, no. I think you are finally realizing that this life is not enough. I tried to make you happy, make you forget everything that you have lost because of me, but it was not enough. I wanted to delay this moment as much as was possible. You married me thinking that you only would be granting a dying man's wish and it's not fair that for an act of piety you have to spend the rest of your life exiled along with someone that you not love anymore."

"I do not know what you are talking about..." she insisted as she heard him approach her.

When he finally felt brave enough to face her, he had to accept that she seemed genuinely confused, almost offended. He approached to her with small, insecure steps.

"You are not happy with me."

Brienne shook his head; slowly at first, then with almost compulsive movements, until she finally collapsed on the bed covering her face with the hands.

Crying.

The last time that he saw her cry was during their wedding. But it had been silent happy tears, very different from the stream that flowed from her eyes at these moments. He knelt awkwardly in front of her and placed his hand on her knee.

"Brienne? Everything will be fine. You'll go back to home. Everything will be fine." He assured her.

Almost instantly she stopped sobbing and uncovered her face. Jaime knew very well that stern gesture and he guessed that she was going to slap him just a second before he received it.

"You are an idiot!" She shouted furiously, cleaning her face with the same hand that had just hit him.

"I was very happy," Jaime repeated, rubbing the cheek that, long ago, received the blow, "Selfishly happy, most of the time."

"I am trying to find a way to get you out of this, so you can come back to your wife and that selfish and happy life that you decided to leave, the gods know why." Tyrion murmured after a long silence.

When Jaime looked to his brother rushing down his liquor, he noticed for the first time that there was no resentment in his eyes anymore, only concern and grief.

"Were you really following us all these years only to protect us?" He asked smiling, although still unsure.

"Who, by the seven hells, do you think warned you that it was time to flee from the Wall?" Tyrion snorted and growled offended before continuing. "Do you think that the ship that you found was a coincidence?"

It was then that Jaime made a decision.

Then don't waste time with me. I do not need already your help anymore. I am resigned to my fate."

"In that you're right, right now you don't need my help, you are doing pretty well by yourself." Tyrion told him with an enigmatic smile.

Jaime ignored him and continued. His brother had always enjoyed being cryptic and enigmatic.

"If you want to do something for me... take care of Brienne and make sure she can return safely to Tarth...," he hesitated one last second before adding, "with my daughters."

"Your daughters?" Jaime was unable to disguise his satisfaction, rarely in his life had been able to leave Tyrion with his jaw dropped.

"Brienne was with child when we left Braavos." Unconsciously Jaime returned to rub his cheek. "You have two more nieces. Twins."

"You are an idiot!" She shouted furiously, cleaning her face with the same hand that had just hit him. "I'm with child."

That was definitely something that he didn't expect. He looked at her surprised until a bitter feeling made its way to his stomach.

"Is that so bad?" For some reason he felt offended, hurt.

Brienne didn't answer. She just put her head on his shoulder and after a long silence gave him a long and gentle kiss on the cheek. A kiss like those of the early days, timid and insecure, but full of love and promises to fulfill.

"I am scared." She confessed on his ear not turning away. "I'm afraid of losing it again. I'm afraid of having this child in my arms, get used to be happy with you and our child and at some point someone will open that door and separate us."

He hugged her as hard as he could. Everything started to make sense, but that didn't make it any less painful.

"I didn't marry you for mercy. That is absurd. And I wasn't even thinking that it would be only for a few hours. If you had not survived..." Her voice broke and she had to take a break to recover herself. "I would have also followed you. I love you. This is my home, the only place where I want to be." She took his hand while her other one was on her belly. She bitted her lip. "I know it's stupid, I am acting like an idiot, but... I can't help it."

"Brienne," he tightened her hand harder, trying to give her the confidence she needed, "do you want to have this babe?"

She stared at him. Yes, there was fear in her expression. The usually serene blue of her eyes was troubled and stormy, however, even so, Jaime was able to find the illusion that she fought to conceal.

And she barely nodded, but in that gesture there was more determination and security that she could have expressed with a long and reasoned discourse.

"Then, wench, if you are serious about this, you don't show up to a duel without a sword." Saying no more he went to find some fruit, milk and meat that placed on the table before taking her hand and force her to sit. "You need to eat for two now. So, eat." He ordered. "And we will worry for everything else when the time comes."

For a moment, he thought she would complain or insisted on analyzing their situation to shred all possible courses of action until they have a well defined plan, as if it were a battle, however she just tight her lips with that sour gesture that disfigured her face whenever she tried to take a decision. A few moments after, she attacked viciously the cheese, as if it were a particularly annoying enemy. After a few more bites, she even dared to smile shyly.

Neither their situation nor their prospects about the future improved after that day, but Brienne, his Brienne, returned slowly to him.

Those were 'intense times', so to speak.

Jaime remembered Cersei during her pregnancies. The first few months she looked radiant and cheerful but as the birthing day approach, her character emerged and transformed her into a beast ready to attack if her slightest wish was not fulfilled perfectly. With Brienne every day was different. She laughed, she got angry, cried, was absent or loved with an intensity that left him exhaust. On the positive side, the nights and their reconciliations have never been so passionate.

To their surprise, when the time had come they hold between their arms not a newly born but two. They were very similar physically, but in terms of character could not be more different. Mariseya was all screams, tantrums and cries; Elenei just sighed with resignation and occasionally gurgled gently to draw attention.

"Just a few weeks after the girls were born we had to run away again. On the road they got sick, and we came very close of losing the little one, Elenei."

"And then you thought it was best to give yourself in, so Brienne and the girls could return safely to Tarth."

Jaime nodded.

"I could do not much for my other children, but I can do this for my daughters. Give them a normal life, a home..."

"You truly are an idiot! Surely those men asking questions were my envoys trying to find out your whereabouts again."

"And how was I supposed to know that? Until now I thought you still hate me." Jaime reproached him with a joker and friendly tone.

Tyrion clicked his tongue and for a long time he concentrated all his attention on his glass of wine.

"You are the one who should hate me; after all, I left you orphan. I killed your mother and your father."

"You didn't kill our mother. Do not say stupid things... Those things happen." He said shaking his head, downplaying the matter.

He approached the window. Wind felt fresher than usual and blew stronger. Perhaps that night they would have one of those short and intense storms that were announcing the end of the spring. Perhaps the same wind would blow away the clouds and soon stars would be visible. Life, in fact, was full of chances.

He watched his left hand resting on the window next to the stump on the frame. Jaime used to find comfort imagining that his hand was the price that life had claimed him for all his past mistakes. But probably some of them were too expensive to have been settled through that single payment.

He turned suddenly to see his brother. Indeed, Tyrion shot to Tywin. But it was his late confession about Tysha what had actually killed Tywin Lannister.

His father always used to say that power created so many enemies as mosquitoes a pond in summer. Nobody outside the immediate family could suspect that Tywin's worst enemy would be his own son. And he had earned that enemy, diligently fomented his hatred for years. How could he blame Tyrion? Perhaps that would have not happened if his own laziness had not made him conveniently ignore everything that happened inside his family. He could never believe that the hatred that Tywin and Cersei had towards Tyrion could be so extreme, he never thought that Cersei would be able to lie and betray him. He didn't want to imagine that the lesson Tywin was planning to give to Tyrion with that girl would be so cruel. He never thought that the resentment of Tyrion could take him to kill his own father.

"You shot to father and it was he who ordered the rape of Tysha," He said with emphasis on the girl's name," but I'm as responsible as all of you for everything I did and did not do.

Tyrion was silent and stared at him deeply before nodding slightly, as if that simple gesture indicated that they were even, and everything else was already in the past, that, despite everything, they were still brothers.

"I'm surprised to find you so willing to share the blame." Tyrion said with a more cheerful tone, a moment later. "If I remember correctly, you used to pay to the guys at the stable so they take responsibility whenever you lost a saddle.

"I am about to die, brother," he dropped with excessive openness. "If I don't examine my conscience now, I don't think that I will be able to do it later." He ended the sentence with one of their typical cynical smiles.

He recalled his previous examination of conscience; somewhat it had turn to be a confession to her daughters the same day of their birth. Brienne was sleeping soundly, exhausted and happy, with the little babies near her, while they were dozing and crying intermittently. Jaime leaned down beside them. Most of the afternoon, he had held them in his arms until Brienne claimed them to feed them. He enjoyed the scent and the warmth the girls had soaked him with, and inevitably wondered if her other three children would have smelled alike, if they would have rested so confidently in his arms as his and Brienne's daughters did.

From his mouth came words that were mere whispers, barely audibles, sincere and painful. He confessed all to them, even knowing they did not understand and that probably the sound of his voice only served to lull them. He told them about Cersei, their brothers, Aerys, Tyrion, Bran, he confessed them each small sin and regret until he also was exhausted.

That night he slept peacefully near the three of them. His daughters had already heard the truth from his lips, his truth.

"If you want to do something for me, ask your Queen to put an end to this as soon as possible. The confinement is driving me insane." He said sincerely.

"Are you in such a hurry to die?" Tyrion asked him before leaving.

Jaime shrugged. He didn't want to die, neither wanted to live like this, and above all, he didn't want to feel that strange anxiety which, in recent days, took over him every time he thought of Brienne. He was sure she would not commit the recklessness of risking the lives of the girls with an absurd journey to try to save him.

And nevertheless he felt restless.


End file.
